Thursday, March 08, 2012

I've kept my mouth shut (fingers still?) on all the latest scandals, slanders, and fuss--partially because I don't have anything new to say and partially because a lot of it seems to be about generating hype. I don't want to contribute to any more ill-deserved page hits.

However, with each new revelation, I'm struck by how much Big Yoga is starting to resemble Big Ag. You would think people so concerned with health and what they do to their bodies would embrace local, sustainable models for their yoga like, I assume, they do with their veggies.

Instead, there seems to be a drive to incorporate, brand, and standardize the practice in order to deliver a sleek, well-muscled, high-fructose Yoga ready for market in nine short weeks. Fast, cheap, mass-produced spirituality available at your nearest yoga franchise.

Where's the farmers' market version of yoga--lovingly grass-fed, allowed to graze and develop naturally in a small herd, led by an independent farmer? A bit more expensive, maybe, a bit more variation in quality--but, all in all, healthier, safer, and, as I said before, more sustainable.

The food poisoning outbreaks of the last few years in the yoga world seem closely tied to production practices: powerful executives, unquestioning producers, self-directed quality control, and a fixation on the bottom line. We should be community-based and student-centered. We should celebrate our local studios and support individual teachers. We should encourage a yoga that meets the need of many students, not just the urban and the leisured.

And while I love the energy of (some of) the internet community, this is ultimately a practice of human interaction and personal contact. Let's stay in touch with our own neck of the woods, even as we inform our practice with connections around the world. A teacher needs to know and see her students--no microphone necessary. A student needs to receive personal attention and have an interactive relationship with her teacher and class--no numbered mats in a giant conference hall.

If anything is learned from this winter's shenanigans, it is that yoga needs to get small again. Not to withdraw or detach from the larger community, but to bring the focus back to the personal level. To cool it with the corporate crap and the fast buck. Let's stop admiring superficial beauty and return to the essential and internal (sorry, not Olympic event material).

I want my yoga like I want my chickens...free-range, but with access to a tidy coop with protection from foxes. Eggs with big orange yolks.

(that last bit of that metaphor is open for interpretation--but it's what I like!)

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Last week I had a new student in class. She slipped in the back while I was still taking roll and I didn't notice her until we were about to begin, so I didn't get to do my usual spiel about how the class works, modifications, etc. So, as I do with all unfamiliar bodies, I kept a close eye on her to make sure my instructions made sense and she wasn't over-doing anything. It quickly became clear that she was doing just fine--more than just fine--and I had nothing to worry about.

Although, as I hope is the case with many of you, then my worries really began (Tell me I'm not the only one who falls prey to self-doubt in the face of stern, accomplished yoga). "Am I boring her? Is this too basic? Am I talking too much?" And then it dawned on me--she is probably a teacher.

And sure enough, after class, we had a lovely chat. She'd just moved to the area and had Iyengar teaching experience and found the class very familiar. Whew. She was delightful and warm and very yoga-teacherish.

Except, how did I sense that? A couple of other times I've come across people who turn out to be teachers, but I sort of already knew that. How Come? Do we give off a scent only discernible to other teachers? A glow? A secret handshake (well, I hope not, cuz I missed than in the training)? Is it something familiar in the demeanor? Or maybe in the practice--a carefulness or thoroughness in the execution of asana that suggests the prompts are being spoken in the head?

Is it the same with other disciplines? Do teacher just know other teachers? Why? I'm curious if anyone else has had this happen and why they think it does.

Monday, January 23, 2012

We
did ardha chandrasana last week. Against the wall. Most of my
students are older and the strength and balance needed to hold the pose
in the center of the room take it off the menu for them. It’s such a
great pose, that’s it’s a shame to eliminate it, so we do it against the
wall and it becomes a release pose. Really, it does, you should try
it.Against
the wall, it’s all the extension and expansion of Hand-to-Big-Toe--a
lengthening, a stretch, a core/thigh engagement with a comforting
presence at the back, except in Half-Moon you have a bit more of a
gravity challenge, but not too much. Once every one gets past the
“tipping-over” fear, it’s really quite nice.People closed their eyes. I
love to close my eyes during a pose. To remove one more distraction
and turn the focus inward. You have to really know where you stand when
you close your eyes, because you lose all visual information that might
assist balance. You have to depend on your sense of touch, maybe
hearing, but sight is gone and the brain has to focus on the limited
input to keep you in the pose. So you focus on the limited input and,
as a result, your sense of the pose sharpens and you really feel it.
And it starts to make more sense because you perceive the arrangement
of your limbs from the inside, instead of just seeing what it looks
like. (Technically
this is proprioception--a really interesting neural phenomenon in which
the brain uses muscle and inner ear/balance information to determine
the body’s position in space rather than sight--why you know your back
arm is at shoulder height in Warrior II, without looking at it)Emotionally,
it feels like flying. As you remove one sense, the others intensify to
fill the void...without the visual you float, without falling (once you
get used to it). Anyway, I highly recommend it for Mountain, Tree,
Headstand, Down Dog, Triangle. You need to feel safe and supported,
confident in your skill, but the rewards are lovely. “See” you at the wall...

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

One
of the things you learn right away in a class on experimental design,
is not too include too many variables. If you want to test the effects
of a certain treatment, better to test on organisms as similar as
possible so you can be sure you’re measuring the effects of your
treatment, rather than something else. Apple
trees may respond differently than orange trees to a certain
fertilizer, because they are reacting to soil conditions, temperature,
and insects as well as the fertilizer. Maybe one tree just grows more
slowly than the other. So, when you want to discuss how much the trees
are affected by fertilizer application, you also have to acknowledge all
these other differences. Your experiment doesn’t tell you much, except
that apple trees are different than oranges trees and we already knew
that...didn’t we? Best to pick one type of tree in the same field with
similar light and water and soil conditions and then look at fertilizer
effects (and it could be compost, so don’t worry about this being an
inorganic example).Judging
by revelations of the last week, including Yoga Dawg’s link of
“average” yoga teachers’ salaries (and the vastly superior correction),
and It’s All Yoga Baby’s discussions (here, and here) of the NYT article about yoga
injuries (apparently, hour-long inversions are bad for your neck!), the
notion of difference and variability is often forgotten when the topic
is yoga. I’m not sure you can average anything or use blanket
statements for yoga, but that doesn’t seem to stop the critics.Skeletons
are hooked up differently, joints have different amounts of mobility,
digestive systems process fats differently, teachers have different
hourly schedules, Iyengar is different that Bikram. Surprise! If you
want to measure anything, discuss anything for comparison, how about
controlling for a few of those variables, so your conclusion actually
has meaning. Of
course if you do yoga consciously and participate in the yoga
community, you know most of this stuff is pretty silly anyway.
Generalizations make better press, and clarifying details make
headlines and search terms so complicated and boring. It wouldn’t be
half as compelling to discuss how a well-trained, carefully-taught class
can be so beneficial (or not, studies seem to show that you have to
believe yoga will help you, for it to actually help you). Or to show a
break-down of teacher salaries based on region, or place of employment,
or class size. Can’t sell as much advertisement.So
that’s my take. Yeah, people sometimes get hurt doing yoga. Sometimes
they don’t. What’s really interesting is why...and if you’re
comparing apples and oranges your answer is going to be a lot broader
and have a lot less meaning than a look at what’s going on between those
two Pink Ladies. Narrow the focus, people!

Monday, January 02, 2012

I
once went to a talk by members of the Pan-Asian Repertory Theatre. One
of the actresses was recounting her career path from med school to the
stage, noting her parents’ disappointment and eventual acceptance of her
choices. “I think you know what you really want to be when you grow
up, when you are a little kid. At that time in your life, you wear your
passions on your sleeve,” she said.I thought that was a brilliant observation, and I often consider it when making my next
move. And my moves have been sort of disparate, but they still follow a
me-specific logic that, I hope, stays true to those sleeve-passions:
journalism, art history, costume design, yoga, more journalism, and,
now, biology (in preparation for some sort of teaching/writing).My
mom gave me a priceless gift for Christmas. It is a neatly-compiled
volume of much of the materials of my young writing life, all
self-illustrated, self-published, and--as I’m about to
relate--self-distributed. About 1974-78 is represented and all in print
from, as this was about two decades before the Internet was introduced.
Three decades before GTTSB went online.The starring entry from among the Mothers’ Day cards, Narnia-esque stories, and haiku collections is Brenda’s Bugle,
a two-page, monthly newsletter I typed and sent out to various friends
and relatives from 1977-78. The articles range from interviews with my
family, crafts fairs at my elementary school, book reviews, to ice
cream drink recipes, comics (many lifted straight out of “Wee Pals” and
“Archie”), and an obituary for my sister’s gerbil. I even invited this
sister to contribute towards the end of BB’s run...I think because I was
running out of ideas to fill the last page.Of
course, the content is hilarious (R.I.P. Sausage, the gerbil), but what
kills me is the writer’s voice of the ten-year-old me. I don’t really
sound all that different in tone and I’m really curious what I was
modelling myself after:

Brenda’s Bugle Vol. 2, No. 5 (March, 1978)

Ah,
ink (and White-Out)-stained wretch that I was...yet I hear some of the
quality of GTTSB’s conversational tone in these early entries. Reading
these back issues of BB inspired a resolution to return to the
blog and do some none-academic writing this semester. It’s hard
to find the time for anything, but I’ve missed the exercise of working a
thought out in print...and, of course, the exchange. The chance to
interact with readers and other writers was tamped down this fall and
I’ve missed it (even the editor of BB had a survey every once and
awhile...my paternal grandfather “loved” the articles, but felt the
puzzles were “not for me”; my great aunt “read it from start to
finish--enjoying everything in it”).Maybe
this week of reflection and looking forward is a good time to revisit
“sleeve-passions.” Was the young you onto something that the current
you has forgotten or ignored? Or maybe the young you was the
inspiration for your present endeavors? Either way, it makes a good
story and I’d love to hear it...

About Me

I see myself as a passionate advocate for Common Sense Yoga. Nothing flashy, nothing noisy, nothing trademarked. I've been practicing yoga for a couple of decades, teaching it for six years, and writing about it for five. It suits me, and let me tell you why...